


Femme Fatale Always On The Run

by pasiphile



Series: Bad Girls Do It Well [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Dirty Talk, Explicit Language, F/F, Genderswap, Non-Graphic Violence, Women Being Awesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-18
Updated: 2012-11-18
Packaged: 2017-11-19 00:21:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/566948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pasiphile/pseuds/pasiphile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Never mess with a lady on a bike. Or her fashion-conscious, <i>slightly</i> sadistic girlfriend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Femme Fatale Always On The Run

**Author's Note:**

> Because fandom can always use more badass ladies.  
> Beta'd by the lovely (but ultimately very mean) percygranger.

The loud roar of an engine tore apart the peaceful silence of the café’s parking lot.

The few people present looked up casually and then got on with what they were doing. Bikers stopped here all the time, although most of the time they came in groups, not alone.

The biker switched of his engine, swung down from the bike and pulled of his helmet. Her helmet.

A man who was cleaning his car nearby looked up accidentally and dropped his sponge. Two other lads nudged each other and pointed.

It wasn't that women didn't came here, 'cause they did, but most of the time they arrived on the back of a man's bike. And they didn't look like _that_ , either.

She had the sort of face you would expect to see on the cover of Vogue, not in some greasy spoon in the middle of nowhere. She was beautiful, but in a cold, unapproachable way. Tall too, although her loose-fitting leather clothes didn't reveal much of her figure.

The woman plucked a bag from beneath her seat, dumped the helmet in the space and locked it up. She strode – not walked, but strode, long fluid steps – to the door of the café, ignoring the turning heads that followed her. The door jingled.

In other circumstances the entrance of a woman like _that_ would have attracted a lot of attention. But today the customers had already had their shock.

There was another woman already there, one that belonged here even less than the one with the bike. She was wearing a dove grey skirt suit and sky-high heels, her hair was done up in an elegant French twist and her nails and lips were a deep bloody red. You would expect to see someone like her walking around the banker's district in the City, or dining in some fancy restaurant. Not in a roadside café where the only other customers were biker gangs and truckers and the occasional travelling sales representative. 

Said customers, spread around the café, were craning in their seats to get a better look at where she was sitting, one pointy shoe dangling elegantly from a stockinged foot.

The biker woman spotted the other and smiled. She walked over and zipped open her jacket, and this reveal of the curve of her breasts and the dip of her waist was enough to shake the clientèle from their stunned silence.

There were catcalls, and invitations, and laughter and leers. She - casually, automatically - flipped them two fingers, which unfortunately only encouraged them. She rolled her eyes and loped to the table where the other woman was sitting, fiddling with a smartphone. She sat down heavily, long legs stretched out, and dropped her bag on the table.

After a while, the second woman said, not looking up from her phone, 'Only _you_ would wear Chanel under a leather motor jacket.'

'I'm versatile.' She smiled. 'Did you miss me, Jen?'

The second woman – Jen – put away her phone and leaned on the table. 'Like heartburn, my sweet,' she said, but with a smile. 'Do you have - '

The first woman patted the bag. 'Right here. It was almost too easy, you know? Mention _Jen Moriarty_ and people collapse in terror.'

'Looking for excitement, Sev?' Jen drawled.

'That's what I've got you for, don't I?' she answered, eyes going dark.

Jen leaned back against the faux-leather of the seat and crossed her arms. 'I'm not going to fuck in you in a disgusting loo in a greasy café, darling. You'll have to contain yourself until we're back in London.'

'Or not,' Sev said, eyes drifting to the most determined group of men, who were sitting only two booths away, steadily getting more creative in their suggestions. Sev sat up a little straighter. 'Do you think they're trying to make me blush?'

'Don't encourage them, my love.'

Sev licked her lips. Beneath the table the sharp point of Jen's shoe caught Sev in the ankle, and she turned back to her companion.

'Speaking of _encouraging men_ ,' Sev said lazily, 'how's Sherlock?'

'Didn't you see the papers?'

'I've been on the road for four days, no time. Why, what did he do this time?'

'Save the child of an ambassador. Isn't that _heroic_?' Jen widened her eyes in mock admiration, and Sev snorted.

'He's getting boring, if you ask me. When are you going to finish with him?'

Jen smiled, sharp white teeth contrasting with the blood red of her lips. 'Quite soon now. Oh yes, the play's almost done. Do you think I would look good in a crown?'

'I've seen you pull off a tiara, so why not? Would I need to kneel for you?'

Jen leaned forwards, elbows leaning on the cheap formica. 'Darling, you always need to kneel for me.'

Sev leaned even closer, tilting her head. ‘Look, Jen, you can’t just say things like _that_ and expect me not to... ‘

They were almost close enough to kiss. ‘To what?’ Jen said softly, holding Sev’s fevered gaze. ‘Hitch up my skirt and bend me over the table? Take me outside and fuck me against the car? Or just go down on your knees, right here, right now, with my hand in your hair and your tongue inside of me until I scream your name? Give the men a show? Is that what you would like to do, Sévérine?’

Sev’s elbow slid off the table. Jen leaned back with a smug little smile.

‘But _unfortunately_ we’re on a time table.’

‘You fucking cocktease,’ Sev growled.

‘Metaphorically speaking. Don’t pout, darling, I promise I’ll fuck you raw first thing when we get home.’

Sev’s expression went pained. ‘That _really_ doesn’t help.’

‘It doesn’t? Gosh, my bad. But we really need to get going now.’

Jen slid out of the booth. The catcalling picked up again, because even though none of them had heard any part of the conversation, you’d have to be blind not to notice the tension between them.

'Hey, any of you ladies want a _real_ man?' one of less creative ones shouted. 

Sev looked absently at the man, opened her mouth to shout something back, and paused. Her face turned briefly thoughtful , and then she smiled and looked up at Jen. ‘Well, if you won’t oblige, do you mind if I...’

Jen rolled her eyes. 'Go on then. But make it quick.’

Sev’s grin bared her teeth in a manner that was distinctly predatory. She stood up and prowled to the man in question, who looked equal parts unnerved and hopeful. She leaned down and parted her lips. 'Actually,' she said, her voice low and smoky, 'I _do_.'

The man blinked, but he recovered quickly. His mates yelled encouragement and congratulations, and Sev took hold of his jacket and pulled him to the loo.

Jen watched them leave with a thoughtful smile. Once they were inside she fished a compact and a tube of lipstick from her purse and started fixing her makeup. Unlike Sev she didn’t even seem to notice the men, even though their mate’s success had only made them bolder.

But one of them made the mistake of approaching her. ‘What about you, darlin’?’ he said, standing in front of her, hands on his hips. ‘Want to have some fun?’

Jen calmly put the compact back into her purse. Then she looked up at the man and smiled.

He backed off again.

Jen sighed, looked at the ceiling, at her elegant watch, at her shoes. Her short scarlet nails thrummed impatiently against the leather casing of her phone.

At last there was a loud thump from the loo. The men cheered, and Jen took her purse and the larger bag Sev had left behind. ‘Finally,’ she muttered under her breath.

She dumped the bags in the back of her car – black, anonymous, totally unremarkable - and waited. A little while later Sev reappeared from behind the café.

'You've got blood on your face, dear,' Jen said mildly.

Sev swiped a thumb over her cheek. 'Don't worry, it's not mine.'

'I didn't think for a second it was.'

Sev leaned against the car and crossed her arms. Jen took a step closer, standing between her legs.

'You were right, the loo was disgusting,' Sev said, eyes glued to Jen's face.

Jen reached out, curled her red-tipped fingers around Sev's neck, and pulled her close. Her lips brushed Sev's throat gently and her other hand slid under her leather jacket, lying cold against her lower back. Sev shivered.

'See you in London, my love,' Jen whispered. She stepped back and got in the car. 

After a few moments of staring into the distance, Sev straightened up and walked back to her bike. She looked at the boy at the petrol pump, who had gone as red as Sev's bike, as Jen's lipstick. 'Didn't anyone ever tell you it's rude to stare?' she said. His mouth was hanging open.

'Honestly.' Sev rolled her eyes and straddled her bike, putting on her helmet. She kicked it into gear and started to race Jen's car.

The boy stared at her until she was completely gone from sight. Only then did he get his bucket and mop and went back to the back of the café.

A few seconds later the silence was once again broken, this time by a panicked yell, as the boy found out what it was that Sev did with _real men_.


End file.
